


As It Was

by TenCentPistols



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Christmas Fluff, Depression, Drama, Drama & Romance, Eventual Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Severus Snape Lives, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenCentPistols/pseuds/TenCentPistols
Summary: SS/HG.The war had shattered her. Retreating to a cottage by the sea, she had started writing letters to her dead friends. Next on her list was a certain, seemingly dead too, potions master.What will happen once she recieves a reply?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 28
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello :) This is my first story ever, so please be kind hehe (constructive criticism welcome). I've been a reader of fanfiction for a long time, however, and finally decided to write my own. Be warned, however, that this is a _slow burn._ And when I say that, I truly mean it.The title is inspired by the incredibly talented musician Hozier, and the song, As It Was. **

  
  
  


_ ‘And the sights were as stark as my baby _

_ And the cold was as sharp as my baby _

_ And the nights were as dark as my baby _

_ Half as beautiful too.’ _

  
  
  


**CHAPTER 1: The Letter**

She awoke to the sounds of the sea. Loud, brutal and unapologetic, demanding her attention.  _ Perfect _ , she thought. She wouldn’t have to work as hard to block out the bad thoughts. Sighing and stretching, she pulled her legs out of bed and walked slowly and sluggishly to the kitchen. The cottage she was residing in wasn’t much, but it satisfied her needs. Everything about the cottage was simple, and that was exactly how she wanted it. That particular morning she wasn’t hungry, instead sporting quite the hefty headache from the night before. Prompting instead to grab her pen and paper and head out. Today was the day she would write to Severus Snape. 

The war had broken her- utterly and completely. Her days spent in solitude, bathing in an atmosphere of sorrow. Her sadness had taken root deep in her mind, gripping and seeping into every inch of her soul. Seeing her friends being murdered, friends and people she had grown up with, destroyed her. How unfair it all was. How angry she was. And sad. She couldn’t count the days spent in her bed staining the pillow with her tears. Or the days spent sitting on the rocks by the sea, wishing, hoping that the ocean would swallow her whole. But today wasn’t about her. It was about Severus Snape and the unanswered questions he left behind. She knew all too well he was dead and would not reply, but this was a form of therapy for her. She had already written Tonks and Lupin. She configured a small table and started writing. 

_ Dear Severus Snape,  _

_ Hello. I know you won’t actually receive this or reply, but I still wanted to write to you and thank you. I know if you could read this you’d sneer at my words and I’ll admit, that thoughts brings a smile to my face. Which is rare these days. I have some questions to ask you, sir. Or professor. I hardly know how to address you, seeing as you are no longer my professor.  _

_ I’ll start with the first question. Why? You’re probably the smartest man I’ve ever known. You knew what would happen. You must have known for months, if not years. Why didn’t you prepare so you could survive the venom? Did you really want to die?  _

She took a deep breath before continuing. 

_ My second question, or request, I suppose, is rather silly, I’ll admit. But I must ask. Please forgive Harry and Ron for being, well, Harry and Ron. You don’t have to forgive me, just please, forgive them. Oh, and I’m sure you know, but if you were wondering why some of your potions ingredients went missing in our first year, it was probably me. It was for a good cause, however.  _

_ I hope you found your peace. My heart aches thinking about those final moments you must have experienced. Alone. If I could change it all, I’d do it without a second thought. I would have saved you, professor. You deserved so better. And I will never forgive myself for thinking of you the way I did before the final battle, before your true allegiance was revealed.  _

_ I have one more question, but I’ll save that for another day.  _

_ Hermione  _

She didn’t realise it at first, but she was crying. Sobbing, she forced herself to walk back to the cottage. She could scarcely breathe at this point. Gasping for breath between painful sobs, she sat down on the kitchen floor. She felt so fucking lonely. It was almost comical. She came here out of her own free will, and yet, she was feeling  _ lonely _ . She didn’t often feel stupid, but she did in that moment. Sniffling, she arose and shakily made herself a cup of tea. Without magic- it was how she preferred it. It made her feel closer to her parents and her muggle childhood. Thinking of them only made things worse, however, and she soon forgot about the letter she had written to her former potions teacher. Her sadness turned to raw and unfiltered anger and she knew the only thing that would make her feel better. Drinking. The cottage had belonged to her great-aunt and uncle, who were both, much to her luck, alcoholics. She pulled out a bottle of whiskey and started drinking. Not caring that the drink tasted of smoke and bitterness, she downed the bottle in less time than she would have liked to admit. Drinking had become the only way to numb herself, which she hated, but she was in no state to fight the urges. Drunk, she clumsily made her way to the bed and promptly fell asleep. 

The next day it was pouring rain. Hailing, rather. She had been lying awake in bed for a while with a terrible headache before she heard tapping on her bedroom window. She didn’t react at first, thinking she was only imaging it. An owl? In this weather? But she wasn’t imagining it, and the tapping only got louder. Quickly, she got to her feet and swiftly made her way to the window. Her head was pounding with last night's mistakes, and sure enough, there was an owl. She recognized the owl instantly, as it belonged to Harry. With a sense of urgency, she opened the window and let the owl inside. 

“Oh, you poor thing!” Hermione exclaimed. The bird was soaking wet. It was carrying a letter, which was wrapped in a protective layer so as to not get destroyed by the rain. She quickly got her wand from her bedside table and did her best to dry the bird with her magic. 

“Hungry?” she asked. The bird, named Elron, chirped excitedly. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she smiled. She’d forgotten how nice it felt to be surrounded by other living creatures. Shuffling to the kitchen in her bunny slippers, she found some crackers she knew owls liked. Elron happily ate his cracker. 

She hadn’t forgotten her letter, and as the rain was seemingly threatening to tear down her little cottage by the sea, she sat down to read. 

_ Hermione, _

_ Molly is sick. It’s urgent. Please come to the Burrow.  _

_ Harry _

A sense of dread washed over Hermione like a giant wave swallowing her whole. As if in a sense of shock, she didn’t react when the Elron picked up the letter she had written to Snape (which she had rolled up, absentmindedly) and flew out the window. She sat in her chair, frozen.  _ Molly? How? _ She had more questions than answers, but she knew she had to leave her cottage by the sea. She didn’t feel ready, in fact, she felt more broken now than when she arrived. But she had no choice. She had to go. 

Thinking back to her childhood, when her mother would kiss her head and bring her tea after her nightmares, she built up the courage to apparate to her tiny London studio flat. Landing flat on her backside, she realised what a state she had left the place in. The bedroom window was wide open, which explained the deathly chill that was looming. Scattered clothes and empty alcohol bottles everywhere, she immediately regretted her decision to leave the cottage. She remembered the last night before she had left, and shuddered. Ron had been visiting, and it didn't end well.

"Ron, you know why I don't want a relationship right now!" Hermione shouted, frustrated at her ginger haired friend. He was standing with his arms crossed, staring at her, concerned.

"It's been over two and a half years, Hermione, you have to move on... Everyone else has," he said, surprisingly calm. Hermione was left stunned.

"H-how DARE you, Ron?! You heartless son of a bastard!" Hermione was fuming now. Panting, she'd stood up and was standing barely an inch from his face. He looked confused. But his eyes quickly darted to her lips, and what happened next made Hermione's blood boil. He grabbed her face awkwardly and kissed her. Without hesitation, she pushed him away and slapped him as hard as she could muster.

"GET OUT!" she screamed with the fury of a thousand seas. Tears had started to roll down her face now, and she was standing next to the bed, fists clenched. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" she yelled.

"'Mione, please..." he said, trying to touch her.

"Don't fucking put a single bloody finger on me or I'll hex your bloody balls off," she said with surprising ease, seeing as her rosy cheeks were now covered in tears. "Leave. Now."

Ron hesitated for a moment, but he did as he was told. He left, and Hermione screamed. Frustration took over and she started smashing the glasses of wine that was left on the table. That idiot, she thought, that bloody moron! The night didn't much improve from there on out. She'd gotten blackout drunk and passed out in the bathtub. The next day Harry had tried to contact her, but she had already written him a letter and left for her cottage by the sea.

  
  


Arriving at the Burrow felt she felt nothing but anxiety and a new, uncomfortable feeling of shame. She’d left selfishly, and she felt terrible about the way she had abandoned her friends, the only people in the whole world who cared for her. She hadn’t even bothered to change her dirty clothes, and she was certain they smelled quite bad. Not caring, she rushed to the door. 

“Hello, anybody there?” she said, voice raised. The door was subsequently opened, and a familiar ginger greeted her. 

“Hermione!” Ginny said, throwing her arms around her bushy haired friend. “You look awful,” Ginny said, honestly and bluntly, a concerned look on her face. Hermione laughed, a pained and forced sound, and she realised what a state she must have looked like. She had wore the same clothes for months, not having the strength or energy to wash them. She was a wizard, of course, but something about magic seemed to drain her, rather than fuel her in the months she spent in her cottage. It didn’t feel right to use her magic, other than the few times she felt it necessary. It felt wrong, somehow, using it when so many friends and people she cared about lay dead in the ground. 

They walked to the living room all while Ginny was clasping her hand tightly. Hermione saw a familiar pair of green eyes on the couch as they arrived.

“Hermione!” Harry said, quickly rising from his seat and practically ran over to her to give her a hug. Hermione forced a smile, and went to sit on the couch. Harry and Ginny joined her.

“How is she?” Hermione asked, suddenly feeling that familiar dread in the pit of her stomach. Molly was dying.

Harry and Ginny’s faces both fell, and she knew the answer before Harry said it. 

“Not well, but she’ll be glad you came,” he said, squeezing her hand. Hermione bit her bottom lip and nodded. Her grandmother had died when she was nine, so she sort of knew what to expect. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her when she entered the bedroom Molly was lying in. Her sons and husband all surrounding her bed, silently crying, was a sight Hermione would never forget. Molly looked deathly pale and was barely able to keep her eyes open. Death was looming over the room, and Hermione could feel the anxiety rising in her stomach.

“Mum, Hermione’s here,” Ginny said, leading Hermione over to the bed. Molly opened her eyes and smiled softly.

“Hermione, sweet girl,” she rasped. Hermione broke at the sound of her name and collapsed near the bed. No words came from her mouth, only tears stained her cheeks. Ginny softly patted her back.

“Molly, I’m so sorry, I-” Hermione started, but Molly cut her off, holding a hand in the air. 

  
“Shh,” she whispered. Hermione could not bare to look at her. Instead, she looked over at her friends, and only then did she notice Ron, who was sitting in on the floor by the door, alone, silently crying. She rose to her feet then, sniffled, and went over to him.

“‘Mione,” Ron said, giving her a sad smile. 

  
“Oh, Ron,” she said, “I’m so sorry.” He didn’t reply, only hugged her tightly. Their last encounter had been an angry mess, but she had missed her friends terribly. And being hugged is seriously underrated, especially when you’ve been deprived of it for so long, so she simply sighed and gave into the hug. They sat like that for a while before Harry tapped Ron’s shoulder. He motioned for them to meet outside. Shakily, she arose, and looking over at Molly one last time, they walked outside.

“They say she has a week left, at most,” Harry said, sniffling. Hermione couldn’t help herself, and she went to hug him. Ron put his arms around them and all three of them hugged each other tightly. The rest of the evening passed by slowly with tears, hugs, and unsweetened hot tea, with Hermione eventually falling asleep on the couch. 

The next morning she was the first to awake. 

  
  



	2. The Reply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione recieves a reply to her letter. What will happen when they meet?

**CHAPTER 2: The Reply**

_And once again these words I'll have to say_

_I'm a fool to want you_

_Pity me, I need you_

_I know it's wrong, it must be wrong_

_But right or wrong I can't get along_

_Without you_

She knew it would leave the boys and Ginny sad, but she had to leave before they woke. The growing feeling of dread in her stomach had left her breathless that morning, and she simply had to get away. She left a note at the kitchen counter, placing it so there was no way they could miss it, and apparated to her flat. 

Her flat was a stark contrast to the lively and warm Weasley house. Even with the unmistakable dismal atmosphere now ruling the Burrow, it was more a home than her sad excuse for a home. Alone at last, she exhaled slowly. Sitting down in the kitchen chair, she heard that familiar tapping at the window. Surprised, she turned around, seeing a new, unfamiliar owl at her window. She opened the window and the bird hastily flapped its wings and dropped a letter at her feet. Just as soon as the owl arrived, it left. Stunned, Hermione picked up the letter. She unrolled it, thoughts racing as to who it could have been from, but no guess she could have made would even have been close to the truth. It was from Severus Snape. 

_Miss Granger,_

_I must confess I am at a loss for how your owl friend discovered my location, but alas, I shall write you a reply. I am sure you will have even more questions than you had before seeing this letter. I will keep it short._

_Forgive your dunderhead friends? Ha. Maybe when I am dead._

_I spent the last year before the final battle preparing an anti-venom to Naginis poison. That is how I survived._

_If you wish, and have more questions (which I am certain you do), you may come and visit me. The address is disclosed._

_And please, call me Severus. I am no longer a professor, and I hardly think “sir” is appropriate._

_Severus_

Hermione reread the letter several times, convinced someone was playing a cruel trick on her. Still clutching the letter between her hands, she didn’t care. She didn’t care if someone was playing her for a damned fool, she would go to the address. A follower of Voldemort could be awaiting her there, and in that moment, she didn’t care. 

Later that evening she stood in the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. She had changed so much since the war, both physically and mentally. Both for the worse. Her face was gaunt, her cheekbones clearly visible. Her hair more resembled a dried out birds nest than a full head of hair. She could hardly recognize herself anymore. She looked like a poor excuse for her former self. She sat down in her bathtub as she often did when nights had gotten rough in the past. Sighing, she let her mind wander. Was it really her former potions professor who had written her? _No matter_ , she thought. She was still going to go. It didn’t matter at this point, her life was already in shambles. She went to bed that night with a faint bit of hope in her heart, and early next morning, she left. 

Arriving at the address that was disclosed she nervously looked around. It was a small cafè tucked away in a cobblestone street, old-fashioned buildings surrounding where she stood. It was raining profusely, and Hermione momentarily regretted her decision not to bring more weather appropriate clothing. Seeking shelter from the rain inside the cafè, she ordered a small latte and a lemon cupcake. She had always loved lemon desserts, especially cakes. Slowly sipping her coffee, she scowerd the cafè. Nobody, at least she thought, looked like they could be professor Snape. Time passed slowly as she nibbled at her cupcake and let her coffee go cold. Almost giving up, she was certain she had gotten fooled. It was then he entered the cafè. It was as if she instantly knew, even though he didn't resemble her former potions professor one bit. His hair was changed, for one. It was no longer long and greasy, but cut in a short fashion. He had also grown a beard. It suited him, she thought. His clothing was also, understandably, very muggle. He was wearing a black shirt with a dark brown vest, black pants and black leather shoes. The shoes she recognized, somehow, as the shoes he would usually wear at Hogwarts. He was more prepared than her however, as he had promptly dressed for the weather, wearing a long, dark coat with two front pockets which his arms were tucked into. It didn’t take long for him to notice her. The cafè was small, and their eyes locked almost instantly. His gaze almost left her breathless. She hadn’t seen those eyes in so long, and she forgot how dark and deep, almost bottomless, they seemed. 

“Profess-” she started, but was interrupted by the overly cheery cafè worker. She had curly red hair and freckles, a spring in her step and pearly white teeth. 

“What can I get for ya today, mister Byrne?” she said, overly cheery. Hermione couldn’t help but cringe, all the while realizing he must have frequented this particular cafè quite often. 

“The usual,” he muttered, sitting down. The freckled ginger nodded, retreating to the back of the cafè. 

They sat in silence for a while, both quite obviously not being much of conversation starters. Hermione, however, broke the silence first.

“You look good, prof-”

  
“Call me Severus, please.”

“Oh, right, you said-”

“Yes, I am aware of what I wrote, Miss Granger.”

Silence. 

“I, uh, was quite shocked to receive your reply…. _Severus_ ,” she said, uncertain. She wasn’t sure how to talk to him, at all. She shifted nervously in her seat, and resumed to nibbling at her now, quite disappointingly, dry lemon cupcake. 

“Yes, I must admit I didn’t expect to receive a letter at all. Why did you write me, Miss Granger?” he said, now searching her face for a reply. 

“Well, uh… After the war I became quite depressed,” she said, offering no filter to the conversation. There was no reason to lie. “I resorted to writing letters to my dead friends,” she smiled sadly, her eyes glossy. 

“I see,” he said, sipping the black coffee the cafè worker had brought him. 

“I didn’t intend to write to you, actually,” she said, before continuing after a short pause, “I only did it because um, well. I’m not quite sure. I never could have guessed you were still alive, prof-Severus,” she quickly corrected herself. 

Severus said nothing, instead burying his nose in his cup. Hermione continued. 

“We had a funeral, you know. Harry held the most wonderful speech. You really should have heard it, Severus,” she said, offering a short smile. “Everyone was so grateful for your sacrifice, Severus, you must know that,” she said sincerely. Severus nodded and looked away awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the praise he recieved. . 

“I also understand you had some more questions for me?” her former potions professor said after a long interval of silence. Instantly a blush colored Hermione’s cheeks. 

Oh!” she exclaimed. “Yes, um, I did. You answered most of them, though, it’s really no big deal.”

“Very well,” he said. They sat together in silence for a while. She ate the rest of her dry cupcake, and he ate a piece of cheesecake. She would never have guessed that he had a sweet tooth. 

“If you wish, you can visit me tomorrow in my bookstore,” Severus said after they both had finished eating. “I’m sure a good night’s rest will jog your memory and you can ask me whatever questions you may have. I’m sure meeting me has already been quite the shock.”

Excitement washed over Hermione, who could hardly contain herself. “You own a bookstore?” she exclaimed. Severus nodded. 

“I’d love that,” she smiled. A genuine smile, for a change. “If it’s not too much to ask, could you recommend somewhere to stay here? Apparating back to London isn’t really an option.” 

He studied her face intently before replying. “You may stay with me, if you’d like. I have an extra room.” 

His generosity shocked her for a moment, and her reply came late. “That would be nice, thank you,” she said after a pause. Imagining a world where Severus Snape was still alive was already strange for her, so imagining a world where he was alive _and_ inviting her to stay at his place was even stranger. Nonetheless, they walked in silence to his house. Which was, much to her surprise, actually a house, and not just a modest apartment, like hers. It was a stunning two-story victorian looking house, and Hermione found herself in awe. 

“I inherited a large sum of money after my mother died,” Severu said, answering her unspoken question. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said, still admiring the century old building. 

“The room is upstairs, to the left,” he said nonchalantly before opening the door and entering it. 

“No wards?” she asked, slightly confused. She would have expected Severus Snape of all people to ward his house. But, alas, that was not the case. 

“I have no fear of intruders here,” he said, simply. It made sense, she thought to herself. Who would ever try to find him here? Everyone accepted that he was dead, as well. No one would ever look for him here. Looking around, she found herself appreciating the simple furnishing of the house. Downstairs, where they currently where, was filled with bookshelves everywhere. Not surprising. What surprised her the most, however, was seeing an old record player and next to it, a box of vinyls. 

“May I?” she said, wondering if she was taking advantage of his hospitality a little too much, but still hoping he would allow her curiosity. He didn’t reply, simply nodding before retreating towards the kitchen. The vinyls were not at all what she expected. There were records of artist of all sorts of genres. Classic rock, ala The Doors, The Rolling Stones and Janis Joplin caught her attention first. Her father had always loved classic rock, so the genre held a special place in her heart. Next she noticed the multiple pop vinyls, notably Tina Turner records and she gasped audibly when she noticed her personal favourite record, “Lady in Satin” by Billie Holiday. Seeing her favorite records brought a smile to her lips and she couldn’t help but pull it out. She was suddenly brought back to her childhood and dancing with her mother in the living room to “I’m A Fool to Want You”. They would sway together, laughing, smiling and giggling. One particular evening mer mother had put the record on, and while they were dancing, her father entered the living room. 

“My darlings, may I join?” he’d said, before curtseying before them. Hermione and her mother had laughed before curtseying back, and both of them offering one of their hands. They danced like that for hours, it seemed, happy and content. Happy. 

Coming back from the memory she’d found Snape sitting in an armchair behind her. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” she ushered. “I didn’t meant to-”

“I suppose I should be used to this unprecedented rudeness after teaching you and your friends for years,” he drawled. “You may put the record on, if you wish.” 

She didn’t hesitate then, almost forgetting his rude remark, and soon her ears were relishing the sound of Billie Holiday. Oh, how she had missed music! She hadn’t realised until that moment how long it had been. _Too long_ , she thought to herself. 

  
“Thank you, Severus. Truly. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed music,” she smiled at him, a genuine smile. Severus didn’t respond, but instead pulled out a book from the shelf behind him and started reading. Hermione was lost in the sound of Billie Holiday, however. She didn’t even notice he’d started reading. She had closed her eyes, swaying softly to the sound. Later that evening, she asked him if she could borrow a pen and some paper. She felt terrible of the way she’d left Harry and the rest and she simply had to write them. He gave her some paper and a feathered pen and she went to her room to write.

_Harry, Ron, Ginny,_

_I am so terribly sorry for leaving the way I did. I simply couldn’t bear to watch everyone suffer. I love you all so much and I’ll be back soon, so please don’t worry for me. I can’t tell you where I am, so please don’t try to find me. Please, give Molly a hug from me. I miss you all. Take care of each other. I’ll be back soon._

_Love you all,_

_Hermione_

Putting the pen down she sighed. Her room was small, but the bed was more comfortable than the one in her flat, and for that, she was grateful. There was a window with a lovely view, and Hermione lay down in bed and let her mind wander. She suddenly realised that she was probably the first visitor he’d had, and with that thought, her cheeks flushed. Severus Snape was a painfully reserved man, and she didn’t imagine that had changed. He seemed different though, she remarked to herself. Like he was, lost, perhaps, like her. Maybe he was lonely, too. _Don’t be so foolish,_ she thought to herself, _Severus Snape needs no one, he’s more than happy to be alone, surely._ Surprisingly, she fell asleep easily that night after sending the letter off with the Severus’ owl. He hadn’t asked any questions about the letter, and for that, she was grateful. 

The next morning she awoke to the sounds of birds chirping outside her window. It took her a moment to realise where she was, and at that, she laughed out loud. She’d spent the night at Severus Snape’s place! Her younger self would surely have a few words to say about this. Smiling to herself, she got dressed and went downstairs. Finding the house empty, she went over to the record player and started playing Billie Holiday once again. Sitting in one of the armchairs, she tucked her feet under her and rested her cheek on her knees. Being here, in Severus Snape’s house, brought a sense of calm over her that she’d been without for so long. To think that two days ago she thought him dead. She closed her eyes and listened to the music when she heard the front door open. In came Severus, accompanied by an old man with glasses and ruffled white hair. 

Speaking with a heavy Scottish accent, the old man began didn’t notice her at first. “My dear boy, thank ye for this, I cannae begin to say how grateful I am to ye!” he said, following Snape’s footsteps intently. She didn’t say a word, she only watched the two men as they walked to the kitchen together. Severus hadn’t noticed her either. She tried to listen in on the conversation, but could only catch snippets of what was said. All she could gather was that Severus was supplying the old man with _something_ . She heard glass crinkling, so she assumed it must have been a potion of sorts that Severus was giving the old man. Was this old man magical, like them? Or had Snape been giving potions to muggles? _No, don’t be stupid, Hermione,_ she thought to herself. The old man must be a wizard, then. She then wondered if he was related to professor McGonagall, seeing as they both were painfully Scottish. She heard them walking to the living room again, and she quickly hid behind the chair so they wouldn’t see her. 

“Thank ye, again, Severus. I must say, I dinnae expect you to be a Billie Holiday kinda lad, but good taste!” the old man said. 

  
An awkward pause ensumed before Severus replied. “Yes, well, see you next month, Domhnall,” she heard Severus said. She heard the door close. 

“Miss Granger, you may come out from behind the chair now,” she heard Severus’ voice say. Instantly embarrassed, she arose gingerly from behind the chair. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t wish to intrude.” Severus nodded before clearing his throat. 

“How long do you intend on staying?” he asked after a short pause. The question caught her off guard, and she admitted she hadn’t even thought of it. Going back to London and the Burrow at the moment seemed dreadful. 

“I-I’m not sure. If it’s any problem, I’ll leave, of course,” she said. He didn’t answer her at first, simply studying her with those dark, bottomless eyes she found so entrancing. He shook his head no and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She noticed dark circles under his eyes, and she wondered if he had slept well. Instantly, she felt guilty. He probably hadn’t slept because of her. _My arrival has been nothing but a bother to him_ , she thought. She made plans that night to leave the next morning. That evening she could hardly sleep. Severus had retreated to his rooms early in the evening, and she had taken an evening walk by herself. The town was stunningly gorgeous. Cobblestone streets, flowers and trees everywhere, mountains in the distance. She felt at peace here, truly. She realised then how much she preferred nature over London’s busy streets. She imagined herself living in the Highlands surrounded by beautiful nature, in a giant castle, surely fit for royalty. 

She fell asleep late that night, her mind wandering. She had a nightmare, a terrible one at that. She imagined everyone she loved dead, all because of her. Her parents, Harry, Ron, Ginny… All dead. She saw herself point the wand at them, green light shooting from her wand. And then she screamed, realizing what she had done. 

“No, no, no, no, no!” she screamed. Panicked, she ran over to her head friends and screamed again. 

“Miss Granger!” she heard a voice say. Looking around, she saw no one. But the voice repeated itself. Suddenly, she awoke, panting. Severus Snape was in the room too, standing next to her bed. 

“Miss Granger, you had a nightmare,” he said, his face unreadable. She couldn’t speak yet, the shock of her dream still lingering. She was sweating, too, droplets of salty water running down her face into her mouth. 

  
“I’m… I’m so sorry,” she rasped, her face hot and her throat sore. 

“No need,” he said. “I’ll get you something. Don’t move.” 


	3. Full Moon

The darkness seemed to swallow her then, and the minutes until Severus returned seemed endless. She was still shaking, but not with cold, when he returned. He handed her a small vial.

“Dreamless sleep,” he said, simply, handing her the vial containing a purple liquid.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered hoarsely, taking the vial and downing the liquid. It was as if she had drunk liquid sleep (which she technically had), and within minutes, she was sleeping peacefully.

The next morning she awoke with a terrible headache. Groaning, she tried to stand up, but vertigo took hold of her faster than she was able to react, and she plummeted to the ground with a loud thud, surely grasping the attention of the house owner.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, embarrassed, even though nobody had witnessed her fall. It wasn’t long, however, before a knock on her door.

“Miss Granger?” the familiar silky smooth voice erupted. He opened the door slowly, peeking in. “I must ask that you keep your clumsiness to a minimum while residing in my residence. I require utmost quietness while brewing my potions,” he proclaimed sternly, studying her face. She was still planted on the ground, her hand on her throbbing head. Soon enough, however, a blush crept upon Hermione’s cheeks.

Embarrassed, she replied, stumbling over her words. “I’m-I must have-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Quiet, girl. I’ll get you something for the headache. You haven’t eaten in a while, there’s food downstairs in the kitchen. Help yourself,” he hissed.

Hermione realised then the truth in his words. She hadn’t eaten since the cafè. Being reminded of food however, send her stomach growling and howling away. She slowly stood up, her former potion’s master offering his hand for her to steady herself on. Blushing again, she grabbed his arm and they walked downstairs together.

“Who was that old man that visited yesterday? He was a wizard, right?” Hermione questioned the man standing next to her as they reached the bottom of the stairs, hand still resting on his forearm. She still hadn’t gotten used to his short hair or even beard, but she had to admit it suited him rather well.

“I’m not letting you stay here, Miss Granger, to ask silly questions fit for a school girl. To my recollection, you graduated a year ago, is that not correct?” he said, annoyed, pulling his arm away.

Her cheeks turned bright red, she instead opted to leap for the kitchen and get herself some food instead of continuing the conversation. In the kitchen she didn’t find much food, however, but a lot of herbs and canned food. Stomach growling, she settled on a can of tomatoes and beans and heated it up over the stove. A poor excuse for a breakfast, and she made a mental note to go to the store later that day.

Today would be a full moon, she realised. It was November 30th, 2000. It was also especially cold, colder than it had been in a while. She thought of the letter she sent to her friends, and thought there probably wouldn’t be a reply today, noting the weather. It was softly snowing, wind blowing hard. She had never liked the winter much. It brought nothing but sharp coldness and at times, freezing rain. But it was beautiful. Was there anything that matched the beauty of the year’s first snow fall? She struggled to think of a match. So there she was, outside Severus Snape’s house, and made her way into the village, but not before casting a warming spell on herself. Huffing still, she tried to walk with haste.

The village was small, albeit big in personality. And soon enough, she spotted a small grocery store around the corner. “McGonagall’s Groceries” the sign outside the store read. Hermione froze in her tracks. McGonagall? She wiped the snow from her shoulders and head as best as she could and walked inside, not quite knowing what she would find. Behind the counter however, was no professor McGonagall, but rather, the old man Severus had taken into his home yesterday, reading a newspaper. Wearing thick glasses, the man saw Hermione and a big smile crept upon his face, realizing a new customer had arrived.

“Welcome, welcome, lass! I don’t believe I seen ya before, have I?” he said, puzzled. “Or have I? Me gnoggin’ has been lettin’ me down lately, I tell ya.”

Hermione chuckled, entranced by the old man’s eccentricness. “I’m new here, I’m afraid-”

“An English!” the old man exclaimed. “We don’t get those too often! Other than dear ol’ Se-” the old man stopped himself, realizing what he was about to say, before quickly correcting himself. “Mr. Byrne ye see, he’s new round here. Came round a few months back, he did. Good lad!” he nodded to himself intently.

“Oh, I’m just here to pick up a few groceries and I’ll be on my way,” Hermione murmured before quickly grabbing a basket and scouting for food that wasn’t canned or in plant form.

“O’ course! Shout if ye need anything!” the old man shouted before going back to reading his newspaper.

The store was modest, seemingly stocked with quite a bit of local produce, surprising for the season. Hermione picked out a few pieces of fruit, some cereal, tea, and a bag of crisps. She wasn’t sure yet how long she was going to stay, with Molly being sick. Her heart sank thinking of her friend’s mother. There was too much cruelness, too much unfairness, too much. Too much. She missed her friends, even though she was painfully aware she was the one who had left them. She just needed some space, some time to herself. To heal, that was all. While staying at professor Snape’s house. The absurdity of it all was not lost to her. She’d come back her friends. She always did. She went to pay for the groceries and before she could think better of it, she spoke.

“I know a McGonagall myself,” she said, Gryffindor bravery guiding her. “A teacher.”

That seemed to grab the old man’s attention, and he raised an eyebrow.

“A McGonagall, and a teacher on at that? Aye, well, I only know on a’ those. Me cousin, Minerva, she’s a teacher o’er at Hogwarts.” The old man wrinkled his nose, his icy blue eyes studying Hermione’s face intently.

Hermione smiled. “Yes, that’s the one! She was my favourite teacher.”

The old man laughed. “Minerva, me grumpy old cousin, always got somethin’ to say, she does. Well, I tell ye, you get these groceries for free now that I seen a student of me dear old cousin ‘round these parts. Take ‘em home and enjoy, lass, on the house!”

Hermione blushed, thanking the man before leaving.

She’d arrived back at Snape’s house, where she admittedly, still felt like an intruder. Her only form of solace was thinking he was quite possibly in need of company, too. He was human, after all. She imagined the days, weeks, maybe even months he spent alone after the battle. Did he have help at all? Knowing professor Snape, she guessed quickly that he didn’t. She put the groceries in away in the kitchen, hoping he wouldn’t hear her. Suddenly, a familiar scent caught her attention. Lavender? No, no, it was quite an earthy smell. Valerian root? The scent wasn’t entirely pleasant, and she realised her former potions professor was still very much brewing potions. She knew that, from the previous day, but she didn’t realise just how much time he probably spent in his brewing room. The room was next to the kitchen, judging from where the smell was coming from. Around the corner from the kitchen she spotted a large, wooden door. Walking slowly, as to not make noise, she tried to get as close as possible. The smell of valerian root, mixed with other plants, made Hermione’s nose itch, and a sneeze was threatening to erupt.

“Fuck,” she whispered to herself, but it was too late. She sneezed, loudly. Panicking, she ran to the kitchen. She heard the door to the brewing room open.

“I’m terribly sorry pro-, um, Severus,” she fumbled her words, his presence removing any form of Gryffindor braveness she possessed.

He came into view. He looked terrible, she noted. His hair was quite ruffled, his face dirty, dark circles under his eyes even more prominent. Did he ever sleep? He clearly had access to sleeping draughts.

“Miss Granger, as I have already made abundantly clear-” he stepped closer, nose flaring slightly. “You may reside in my house so long as you do not disturb me. Have I made myself clear?” he hissed. It was then she noticed the scar on his neck. She hadn’t seen it before, as he had always worn his shirt collars popped up. She gasped. It was still red, and the scar looked like it hadn’t properly healed. It was deep, too. Two dents in his neck, fit for two giant fangs. He noticed her staring. A slight redness found its way to his cheeks, and he turned around and stormed into his brewing room.

“Severus!” she exclaimed, quickly following him into the room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” but she was interrupted by his face an inch from her face. His smell was strong and stark, a mix of herbs and earth. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant smell, but it was uniquely his.. The room was quite spacious, vials and ingredients neatly organized on shelves.

“I must have forgotten how pestilent you Gryffindors are,” he sneered. “You will leave my house immediately.”

She was left shocked, his words stinging her Gryffindor pride, but she didn’t move. Her newly acquired braveness let her speak her next reply with surprising vigor and steadiness.

“I can see you’re hurt, too.”

“You know nothing, stupid girl,” he whispered through his teeth.

Silence took hold of the room and creeped into every orifice of the room, lingering for what seemed like forever. The two wizards eyes were locked to each other, neither of them breaking the contact. Hermione could not read his face. He was angry, that much was certain, but there was something in his eyes that made it impossible to look away. For the life of her, she could not pinpoint it.

Ever the Gryffindor, Hermione Granger broke the silence first.

“If you’d like, I can help you with the potions.” His last words to her were not lost to her yet, but she couldn’t explain the feeling of needing to stay. It was commanding, erasing any rational thought she had in that moment. All she could think is that she must not leave.

His dark, black eyes, devout of the anger that was controlling him mere moments ago, studied her face intently. He had taken a few steps back, the distance between them now a testament to their feelings towards each other.

“Begin by preparing ingredients for a sleeping draught,” his voice like ice, steady and cold. They spent the rest of the evening in silence, brewing, with the occasional sneer from Severus to Hermione, signifying his distaste at her technique. It wasn’t that it wasn’t good, it was just that it was a little too perfect. A little too Hermione Granger.

She noticed quite quickly the reason for the smell of the valerian root. He was brewing a draught of peace, which emitted a slight silvery fog-like vapor. She noticed it because she’d been a frequent consumer of it when she was finishing her NEWTs back at Hogwarts, after the war. McGonagall had given her free reign of the potions classroom and ingredients, for which she was extremely grateful. It was a time she purposefully spent little time recollecting, however. She was reading constantly, desperately trying to distract herself. She must have read every book in the Hogwarts library. Or close to.

They’d been brewing in silence for what seemed like an eternity before they both heard a loud thud coming from the living room.

“Stay here,” Severus said, his eyes a mixture of concern and confusion. She did as she was told, but her curiosity quickly got the best of her, and she tried intently too listen. Not hearing anything at first, she slowly crept out to the kitchen, casting a silencing spell on herself. The noises were quiet at first, a slight whimpering and a muffled voice. She realised then that Severus had cast muffliato on himself and whoever the guest was. Bugger him, she thought to herself. Her curiosity was still reigning, however, and she tried to peek out of the kitchen to get a look. She might not be able to hear much outside of buzzing, but she could still damned well see. What awaited her in the living room, however, shocked her. It was the old man who had visited Severus the previous day and whom she had seen at the grocery store. Only, he was quite clearly mutilated, no longer all human, his hands now sporting claws, his face covered in densely packed fur. She tried reading their lips but found it pointless. Was he a werewolf? Was that the potion he picked up from Severus yesterday? She hadn’t gotten a good look at it, remembering how she had been hiding behind the armchair in the living room. She bit her lip. He didn’t look like an ordinary werewolf, however. Their body language changed abruptly, and she noticed a smile on Severus’ face. The old man, now a semi-werewolf, was laughing, throwing his head back and patting his belly. Severus then patted the old man’s shoulder, and the old man threw the younger one a big hug, making Severus tense, before walking over to the fireplace and disappearing with the floo powder. Hermione was left stunned, her mouth wide open.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you staring is quite.... Discourteous?”


	4. Solace

Still in her hiding spot, Hermione slowly creeped forward. Their eyes locked and Hermione shivered. His eyes told all. That was the trick with her former potions master, she noted to herself, the answer lay in his . And in that moment, they were positively glimmering with life.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I wanted to make sure you weren’t in danger.”

Severus scoffed. “You think me unable to fend for myself?”

“Oh, no, not at all.”

“Then why come out at all?”

“Curiosity, I suppose,” she replied, smirking. Not quite believing her eyes for a moment, she caught him smirking too. She couldn’t help but giggle. How absurd this all was!

“Is something amusing you, Miss Granger?”

She didn’t reply, instead opting to quiz him. “Who was that? I saw him in the grocery store earlier. Is he a werewolf? I noticed he wasn’t fully transformed, why’s that?”

Severus rolled his eyes before notioning to the living room. They both sat down in an armchair of their own. Hermione had grown quite accustomed to his living room, finding appreciation for his decorating skills. She would have never guessed the famed dungeon bat would have decorated his house the way he had. The armchairs were clothed in velvet, a stunning deep blue. It reminded her of the ocean, and she found herself missing her little cottage. Just a bit.

“He is a werewolf, yes.” He sighed deeply before continuing. “I suppose there is no harm in telling you.” His face became the unreadable stone mask she was used to. “Professor McGonagall helped me find my home here after the battle. And before you ask, yes, she is the only one aware of my existence apart from you. You already met her cousin, Domhnall. I brew his wolfsbane myself every month. These last few months, however, I’ve been tinkering with the recipe. I wanted to see if I could limit the curse, perhaps even remove it completely. As you can see, I have been semi-successful.”

Hermione was enthralled. “That’s amazing, Severus! How did you do it?”

The tall man sitting in the chair shifted slightly in his seat. “I have a personal library filled with potions books upstairs. I was reading a book on anti-curse potions when I came upon a chapter written by Alabaster Buckthorn, which was written mostly about how time of day played a could possibly be a key factor when brewing wolfsbane.” He paused momentarily, before continuing. “It was all speculation, however, but I was still curious enough to try it myself. In short, you must brew the potion during sunrise. It must be early enough that the sun can be seen, but not so late that the full sun is in view. A contrast to the darkness of the full moon, no doubt. The first test was a few months ago. The first few tests were unsuccessful, but after tinkering a bit with the amount of powdered moonshine that was used. I gave it to Domhnall yesterday, as I am sure you remember.”

Hermione blushed. “Yes.”

“The effects of the curse are still prominent, however. The only change my version of the potion brought was the lessening of the physical transformation.”

“I’ll help you. I can research, measure ingredients…” Hermione blurted out. Hermione realised how depraved she had been of, well, studying. Reading, learning. She graduated over a year ago, but she could not remember the last time she had picked up a book and sat down and simply absorbed the words. The smell of the pages, too. A longing to read grew inside her, and she wished for more than anything to visit his library upstairs.

Severus didn’t reply at first, instead he studied her face, slight confusion ruling his expression. Hermione wished desperately that he would say yes. As much as they she had simply been a guest in his house, nothing more, she wanted to stay. She wanted to get to know him more. She had questions. And most of all, she wanted to be his friend. Before he could reply, however, Harry’s owl appeared outside the living room window.

“Elron!” she jumped out of her seat, quickly letting the bird inside. The bird dropped a letter at Hermione’s feet before hungrily pecking at her hands. The nature of the bird’s arrival, however, was not lost on Hermione. There was only one reason she could think of why Harry would write. Molly. She unrolled the letter, fearing the words on the page.

_Hermione,_

_It happened. The funeral is this Saturday at Hogwarts. Minerva insisted._

_Harry_

She’d never been one to express vulnerability or emotions freely. Always fearing that other people would look down upon her, questioning her intelligence in a single moment of emotional weakness, she kept it to herself. And she had done a damned good job at it, too. Until that moment. Perhaps it was Molly’s death that hit hardest, perhaps it was the war, perhaps it was all of it. Bottled up like a champagne bottle that had just been shaken, ready to pop. But as she sat there, reading the letter over and over, she didn't cry. She simply stared at the paper. Motionless. But the hand of her former potions professor on her shoulder brought her back, and she started sobbing. The tears filled her eyes faster than she could blink them away, and she was struggling to breathe. Gasping for breath and blinded by tears, she realised her professor had vanished. Clutching her chest, she attempted to focus on her breathing. It was a technique she’d adopted in the last few months, as her anxiety had peaked. It was her mother’s words that rang through her head then, the voice of a simpler time. Breathe, little one. In and out, slowly. Her best efforts were in vain. If anything, thinking of her mother only made her despair worse.

“Drink.” The voice of Severus Snape appeared next to her as if from thin air, dark and silky. He had brought a potion with him. The potion emitted a slight silvery vapour, without any prominent smell. Draught of Peace, Hermione thought to herself.

Hermione attempted to take the vial with shaky hands.

“Allow me,” his voice said, hands steady and strong. He guided the potion to her lips. Hermione’s tears stopped flowing, and as if some wave of peace had washed over her, breathing became easier. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration, careful as to not spill the liquids.

“T-thank you,” she rasped before swallowing the potion. Her tears had stopped now, and she felt remarkably better. “I… Molly Weasley passed away. There’s a funeral this Saturday at Hogwarts.”

“Will you be attending?” he asked, now sitting down in his usual chair.

“Yes, I have to be there for Harry and Ron,” Hermione smiled sadly.

Severus nodded. Together they sat in silence for what must have been at least an hour, but Hermione really didn’t mind. The silence between them wasn’t awkward, it was filled with understanding and acceptance. She’d grown to quite enjoy the company of the man in front of her. Although he didn’t say much, Hermione greatly appreciate the man’s intelligence, and thankfully, he seemed to be in a much better state of mind now than when he was teaching at Hogwarts. Of course he was still Severus Snape- dark, rude and harsh. But there was an unmistakable difference about him. He was no longer the bat of the Hogwarts dungeons, no longer the crude and sometimes straight up mean bully belonging to the Slytherin house. She found herself unable to keep her walls up around him, as if he was some unmistakable beam of light in her ever-so ominous and dark world of shadow.

She tried to speak then, but finding her words would not come, she simply handed him the letter. Long, elegant fingers picked up the letter and his dark, glittering eyes studied the letter intently.

“I must admit I did not know her very well, but I cannot deny her importance in the wizarding community. If there ever was good in this world, Molly Weasley was the shining example.”

Hermione nodded, finding his words ringing true. The potion had taken full effect now, for which she was grateful. Her anxiety had been replaced with a soft wave of tranquility, first starting in her toes and going all the way up to her head. It felt wonderful.

“I have to go, but I would very much like to help you with the wolfsbane potion, if you wouldn’t mind.” Hermione smiled shortly, finding his eyes too intense to hold contact with.

“Very well. You may return here after the funeral, if you wish.”

Hermione nodded. “I took the liberty of adding some groceries to your cabinet, if you don’t mind. It was awfully empty.” She smiled at him, his cheeks gaining a slight rosy color, before walking upstairs and into the guest bedroom. Laying down, she felt peace and contentment like she never had before. The Draughts of Peace she had been brewing herself and taken at Hogwarts had been amazing too, but this one was positively incredible. Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes and drifted off into a peaceful sleep, without any nightmares.

The next day Hermione and Severus started working on another batch of the wolfsbane potion. It was early in the morning, as required for the potion.

“Miss Granger, if you could prepare the moonseed and dittany? And be careful with the moonseeds, that batch is particularly fragile.” She was quite happy to be distracted, especially doing something with her hands, but her thoughts were never far from her friends. She had replied to Harry that morning, assuring him that she would be there.

“Miss Granger?” she didn’t hear him at first, lost in thought. “Miss Granger,” his silky smooth voice like honey said, snapping her out of her trance. He was standing in front of her now, brows furrowed, obsidian eyes staring at her intensely. She realised then that she had been standing completely still, eyes focused on nothing, moonseed and dittany in her hands.

“I’m sorry! I’m just… distracted,” she said apologetically.

“Understandable. You may read one of my books on anti-curses, if you wish. I will deal with the potion.”

The rest of the morning went by quite smoothly, with Hermione brewing them both tea at around 11 A.M. Severus had been busy the whole morning with the potion, and Hermione had been reading. Well, mostly reading. Hermione found herself staring at her former professor more than she would have liked to admit. He was tall. She knew that already, but observing him from a distance really made his height evident. And his fingers. Long, but elegant. His movements were smooth and with purpose, every move filled with grace. Watching him work was truly enchanting. At times it was like a dance. From the stirring, to the preparing of the ingredients, it was hypnotizing. I guess there’s a reason they called him the best, she pondered to herself.

The rest of the day passed by quickly, and before she knew it, it was Friday morning. The day before the funeral.

“I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality, Severus,” she smiled warmly at her former potions professor. They had grown accustomed to each other, and Hermione was surprised to find that she would be missing her new friend. His company was comforting, even when they didn’t say a single word to each other. Their silence was solace, a safe haven. He was standing in front of her, hair ruffled and clothes stained with potions ingredients. His smell was earthy and warm.

“If it’s not too much to ask, I would appreciate it if you could convey a message to Minerva from me. Without noting anyone else of my existence, of course.” He handed her a small sealed letter without any writing on the outside. She took it and tucked it into her pockets.

“Of course,” she said. Without thinking, she reached up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear. He looked stunned. And before she could regret what she did and express it verbally, she apparated.


	5. The Funeral

Her London flat was a painful reminder of her past, of life after the Battle. And coming back felt worse now than it ever had before. She still felt terrible guilt for not being with Harry and Ron, but she knew they had Ginny and the rest of the Weasley keeping the company. It was not lost on her, however, that she had just left the first person she had felt she had a meaningful bond with since the Battle. And it was her former potions professor. Who should have been dead. 

She sat down at her kitchen table and started for a fleeting moment, she wished she could go back to Scotland. Pushing the thoughts aside, she instead went on to plan what she would wear for the funeral. It felt surreal. Molly was dead. Tears were threatening to form, but she managed to stop them. Distracting herself, she started going through her clothes. Not finding anything she liked, or thought appropriate to wear, she instead just transfigured an old dress into a more fitting wizarding robe. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. 

**Saturday**

She met Harry and Ron outside the gates of Hogwarts a little before 10 A.M. Seeing her friends again felt both wonderful and heart wrenching. The thought of Ron’s mother, now dead, in a casket in the castle, made Hermione feel nauseous. It didn’t feel real. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” she said, feeling guilty. 

“It’s alright, ‘Mione. You’re here now, that’s all that matters,” Harry replied, smiling slightly. 

The funeral was to be held in the same place Dumbledore’s funeral was held. It was decorated with thousands of flowers, among them cascading purple wisteria flowers, Molly’s favourite. Ron held a speech, not leaving a single dry eye in the whole room after. After food and drinks, Hermione left the area to get some air. 

  
“Hermione?” a familiar voice asked. She recognized it as Minerva McGonagall. 

“Professor! I-I’m sorry, I-”

  
“My dear child,” Minerva said, hugging Hermione softly. Hermione remembered the letter she’d brought from Severus, and pulled it out of her pocket. 

“Oh, um,” she said, pausing to sniffle. “I… well, I’m not quite sure how to say this, but. I visited professor Snape in Scotland.” 

Minerva’s face morphed into a face of confusion, then shock. “You met Severus? But-”

“Yes. I sent him a letter, not knowing he was alive. It was a project of mine, sending letters to people who lost their lives during the Battle.” 

“And you received a reply from Severus?”

“Yes, I did. We arranged a meeting and I stayed at his house a few days, helping him with potions.” Hermione had sat down on a stone bench, Minerva choosing to stand instead. 

“I see,” Minerva said, still puzzled. 

“Perhaps he wrote it in the letter, but he’s working on improving the wolfsbane potion. He’s been somewhat successful so far,” Hermione said. 

“That’s wonderful!” Minerva replied, grasping Hermione’s hands. Hermione smiled. 

“Yes, I’m hoping we can make something that could possibly cure the ailment altogether.”

“That’s truly wonderful, Hermione. You must give Severus my kindest regards. He is truly a wonderful man, I am only sorry he’s not comfortable enough to, well, tell everyone he’s still alive.” 

“How’s Crooks?” Hermione asked, curious about her former feline friend. While she was staying at Hogwarts finishing her last year, Crooks and Minerva had formed an inseparable bond. She felt bad taking him with her when she graduated, mainly because of her looming depression, but also because she knew Minerva was lonely, too. They were a perfect match for each other. 

“Oh, he’s great, always wandering the halls or catching prey outside on the grounds. I take him with me when I visit my home in Scotland, too. He’s quite fascinated with the chickens in my garden,” Minerva chuckled. 

Hermione smiled warmly at her former professor. They sat together like that for a couple more minutes before Hermione decided to look for Harry and Ron, barely having seen them all evening. It didn’t take long for her to find them. She stopped dead in her tracks. Ron was sitting next to Lavender Brown, their hands clutched together. Hermione felt sick. Her and Ron had stayed together for a while after the war, but it didn’t work out.. They were too different, they wanted different things. And besides, her feelings for Ron were never romantic. If anything, she saw him as a brother. But seeing him with another stung. Harry saw her and quickly walked over. 

“‘Mione,” he said, giving her a sad smile. Not wanting him to see the sadness in her eyes, she hugged him quickly. 

  
“Let’s go sit,” Harry said, notioning her over to a pair of chairs. 

“I didn’t know Ron and Lavender were a thing.” Hermione felt overwhelmed. 

  
“It’s quite new, I’m sure it’s nothing permanent,” Harry said reassuringly. 

“Oh, I’m not jealous. I just wasn’t aware.” 

She could feel Harry’s gaze on her face.

“We broke up a while ago, you know.” Hermione nervously fiddled with her thumbs. 

“I know.” 

“I moved on.”

“I know.”

“I guess he did, too.”

Silence. 

The rest of the funeral went by quickly. It was mentioned several times by the Weasley family members how Molly didn’t want people to be sad at her funeral, so the atmosphere was kept quite light-hearted. Memories were shared, tears shed and even more food was eaten. It wasn’t as sad as Hermione had traditionally viewed funerals to be, albeit she was still quite shaken over Ron and Lavender. 

Hermione left the funeral and without thinking twice on it, she apparated to the cottage by the sea. The sea air knocked the air out of her lungs and she fell to the ground, coughing. And then the tears came. And they wouldn’t stop. And she felt hopeless again, sad, confused and desperate. And she knew then the only thing that would make her feel better. Forcing herself into the cottage, she pulled out a fresh bottle of whisky. She must have downed it in less than ten minutes. 

“ _Fuck you, Ron Weasley!”_ she yelled into the air. She didn’t care anymore, and without a single drop of stored in her brain, she walked to the rocky beach outside the cottage. Frustrated, she picked up a rock and threw it into the ocean. Screaming, she threw another one. And another. She must have thrown a hundred rocks before she sat down, exhausted. _But it felt so damned good_. In a moment of pure chaos and hurt, Hermione decided she would write Ron. She went back into the cottage, pulled out some paper and a quill and started writing, determined to tell him what was on her mind. 

_Dear Ronald Weasley,_

_I saw you and Lavender together at the funeral. Good for you, Ron. I hope she’s the domesticated dream you always dreamed of. The girlfriend who cooked you food and massaged your feet. The girl I could never be for you. And I hope she realises the amount of pure manchild she’s dealing with before it’s too late. May you live happily ever after in pure matrimonial bliss._

_Hermione_

_PS: Don’t bother replying_

Not having her own owl, or any pet for that matter, was a personal choice. Of course, it would make sending letters much easier. But she prefered not having the responsibility of another living being on her hands- at least for the time being. She had tinkered with the idea of getting another kitten for a while, but quickly dismissing the idea. Sighing, she went over to the liquor cabinet. Anger was still flowing through her veins, her breath hot with alcohol. Her drunken mind had seemingly forgotten about the letter, and she never ended up sending it, forgetting it almost as soon as she had written it. 

That night she had a nightmare. 

She was back at Hogwarts. But not as a student this time, _as a ghost_. She was looming the halls when she spotted a certain, very familiar, potions master. He looked her over and laughed. A crude, loud, ear-deafening laughter. 

“Hermione Granger, the most pathetic excuse for a wizard the wizarding world has ever seen! In the halls of Hogwarts, no less. How ironic. An unlovable fool, she was. Can you believe she considered us friends? Ha! Never would I ever associate myself with such an insufferable twat. She thought me a sensitive and lonely soul like her. How wrong she was!” he sneered. “You belong in the forest, where nobody will ever see you, you pathetic little ghost. Go! Leave! Never come back!” Gesturing with his hands for her to leave, his face was twisted with hatred and anger. It was terrifying. Hermione could not bear to look at it. Silvery, fog like tears were streaming down her ghostlike form. The ghost of Hermione Granger started to float away from the tall, snickering man, with an urgency she had never experienced before. 

_“No, no! No, please, not the forest! Please, have mercy!”_ But it was too late, and before she knew it, she was in the Forbidden Forest. Creatures only formed in the deepest of one's nightmares started appearing all around her. Ghouls, headless monsters, creatures so vile she was sure the images of them would never quite leave her mind. They attacked her ruthlessly, even her ghostly form could not shy from their attacks. Her screams seemed mute, her entire being at the mercy of the worst kinds of monsters one could ever imagine. 

Then she awoke. Her throat raw and sore, face hot with tears, she forced out a scream, only to be met with physical agony. How terrible that dream had been, how awful! But she couldn’t help but think of the part that hurt her the very most. The part brought forth mental agony she had hardly known before. It wasn’t the monsters tearing her ghostly form apart, but rather, Severus Snape’s words. His words were refusing to leave her mind, like a spectre refusing to find peace. 


	6. A Lesson in Potion-Making

**A/N: This is the second alliteration of the chapter. Originally, I had an entirely different direction in mind, but I gave it some thought, and came up with this instead. Maybe the other version will turn into a different story, who knows. Anyways, enjoy :)**

A few days had passed since the funeral before Hermione decided to return to Scotland. She’d thought about it, weighing the pros and cons to returning, but she realised most of the cons were just her irrational fears of him not enjoying her company, and then some childish notion that Slytherins and Gryffindors could not possibly befriend each other. And to her understanding, the days they had shared hadn’t been entirely unpleasant to her. 

She shed her newly found cape of anger and sadness, mostly thanks to a mixed bag of emotions courtesy of both the funeral and Ron Weasley, and Apparated to Severus Snape’s house. It was raining, and Hermione quickly ran to the door. Knocking on the door, she found no reply inside. Growing cold, wet, and frankly, a bit annoyed. She knocked again. 

“Severus? Hello?” 

No answer. 

“I’m coming inside!” 

Silence. 

Opening the door slowly, being quite surprised that it was unlocked, she found the house eerily quiet. Her mind raced.  _ Where was he? He would never leave the door unlocked like that.  _ Anxiety growing in her stomach, she found her legs guiding her without her mind’s consent. In truth, she was terrified, fearing the worst. Before she knew better, she was outside his potions room. Opening the door slowly, the door creaking slightly, she peeked inside. 

On the floor was Severus Snape, unconscious. His hand was mangled, around him a pool of blood. His breathing labored. Hermione rushed to his side. 

“Severus? Can you hear me?” No reply. She looked over at his wound. It was grotesque.  _ Was that a bone sticking out?  _ Feeling bile rise in her throat, she looked away. She had to think quickly. She had to heal the wound. Pulling out her wand from her purse, she went on to perform several healing charms. The wound proved to be quite difficult to heal, and not wanting to risk permanent damage, Hermione stopped when the wound was closed somewhat properly. Realising then that she hadn’t checked for other wounds, she quickly did a diagnostic charm on his body. His stomach lit up. Carefully peeling away the ripped black shirt he was wearing, she gasped. His stomach was covered in a giant dark purple bruise.  _ Inner bleeding?  _ The diagnostic spell hadn’t shown it, but she still went on to perform a quick charm on his stomach. She noticed then the copious amount of scars that littered his chest. One quite big one crossed his pectorals, and before she could stop herself, she touched it lightly. The touch made his body twitch. 

  
“I’ll get you some healing potions, just don’t move, alright?” she ordered. He didn’t say anything, his eyes barely opened. Instead he groaned. 

“No, no, don’t move. I’ll be right back.” 

She went over to his potions cabinet in search for a number of healing potions, mostly ones to alleviate pain and invoke a quicker healing process. Once she was satisfied with the amount of potions she had acquired, she went back to Severus. 

“Here.” She pushed a vial containing wound-cleaning potion and a blood-replenishing potion. It would have to do for now. His eyes were still closed, but he swallowed the liquids. Again, a groan escaped from his throat. 

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

“The wolfsbane...” he rasped. “I...” 

She felt guilt wash over her instantaneously. She had selfishly spent a few days at the cottage when she could have been here with him instead. Whatever happened, it could have been prevented. Or, at the very least, she could have assisted him sooner. 

Carefully, she levitated his body into the living room and onto the couch. She wasn’t confident enough to levitate him all the way upstairs, so this would do for now. 

Sitting next to him on the bed, she started dabbing his forehead with a cold washcloth. He had a small cut on his temple, and she dabbed it with the cloth carefully. The motion seemed to startle his unconscious body, and his body twitched ever so slightly. He looked so peaceful, so devoid of his normal dark and gloomy expression that Hermione found herself unable to take her gaze from his face. And for the first time, she thought him quite beautiful. In his own, non-traditional way. His nose was quite elegant, albeit perhaps a little too big, but it wasn’t ugly, as she had been led to believe in the past. His beard covered most of the lower half of his face, but she found herself appreciating his lips, too. A deep pink in color, and no longer sporting their usual stiffness and tenseness. He looked almost like a child asleep, so peaceful, so lost in his own dream. 

Hours passed, and as Hermione was getting him some more potions, she realised she should probably write Minerva. She would want to know about this. Although Hermione wasn’t sure who had caused his injuries, the answer was somewhat obvious. 

Sitting down, Hermione pulled out a quill and started to write. 

_ Dear Minerva, _

_ Severus is grievously wounded. I believe it was your cousin, Domhnall’s doing, but I cannot be sure. I think you better come quickly. I’ve taken care of his injuries and I am currently caring for him, but I could use your assistance. Look forward to seeing you soon.  _

_ Hermione Granger _

Sighing, she put the quill down. She gave the letter to Severus’ black-banded owl Erebus who was always close to the house, usually looming in a tree, awaiting a prey. Usually critters, but sometimes he would leap at passer-bys who had fancy hats. She watched as the owl flew away. Anxiously biting her lip, she warded the house and locked the front door. 

In the living room, Severus was still sleeping peacefully. She’d given him another round of potions and a sleeping draught, so she guessed he would be asleep for quite some time. Sinking into an armchair next to the couch, she allowed herself a few moments of rest. A few moments turned into a few hours, however, and before she realised she’d been sleeping, she was awoken by Minerva. 

“My dear child! What has happened?” Minerva’s voice was clearly shaken. She was still wearing her sleep wear, Hermione noticed, only having draped a robe on top. 

“I’m not quite sure. I arrived here yesterday and found him in his potions room, bleeding and unconscious,” Hermione replied. 

“Oh, dear Merlin. You said it could have been Domhnall? Have you seen him at all?”

“No, I’m only guessing. I knew Severus was working on the wolfsbane potion, so my only guess so far is that he had new version ready and they tried it and well, something went horribly wrong.” Both the women's’ gazes loomed over the sleeping body of Severus Snape. 

“His hand…” Minerva uttered, shocked. 

“Yes, I tried fixing it but I’m afraid I’ve reached the end of my wits.”

“Oh, you did more than enough, Hermione. I dare not think what would have transpired had you not been here. He’s a lucky one, he is.” 

Minerva managed to fix the hand almost completely without too much trouble. Hermione admired the older witch, hoping one day to possess her talents. She knew she was bright, but she only wished she was as bright and talented as Minerva. 

Severus Snape was asleep for several more long and grueling hours. The two women took turns tending to his wounds, but Hermione was always by his side, even when Minerva insisted she get some more rest. 

The next morning, he awoke. It was a slow awakening, and both Minerva and Hermione didn’t notice it at first. It was only when he coughed slightly they noticed it fully. 

“Severus!” but women said in unison. 

“I… the potion…” he rasped. Obsidian eyes found brown eyes. A feeling of lightheadedness washed over Hermione like a bucket of ice-cold water. It had been a while since she’d stared into his eyes, and she’d forgotten how hypnotizing they were. 

“Don’t worry, child, Hermione’s taken excellent care of you.” Minerva paused before continuing. “What happened, Severus?”

Severus’ eyes were still focused on Hermione and his face was puffy with sleep. 

  
“Domhnall. Potion.”  _ Cough.  _ “Went wrong. Couldn’t… stop…” Hermione quickly found a potion for him and placed the vial to his lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed before he swallowed the liquid. 

“No matter. I’ll go see to Domhnall. Personally. This cannot happen again, and Merlin forbid it happen to a muggle.” Hermione didn’t have a mind to argue with Minerva, to tell her it was a bad idea or to try and stop her, so she simply nodded and turned her attention back towards Severus. He had drifted off to sleep again with the potion she’d given him. 

Later that day, Minerva returned. As she had done for the majority of the day, Hermione was sitting next to Severus. 

“I talked to him,” Minerva sighed. “He’s remorseful, of course. But he is left with permanent claws.” Continuing, Minerva whispered. “We mustn’t tell Severus. It’ll destroy him.” Hermione nodded. Knowing that not only did he fail, but he permanently cursed him with claws. Notioning for Hermione to come over, the two witches went into the kitchen. Minerva cast a silencing spell, just in case. 

“Hermione, I’ve been thinking… And I think it’s time.”

  
“Time for what?” 

“For Severus to return to the wizarding world. Better yet, return to Hogwarts. I believe it’ll be best for him if he doesn’t know what happened to Domhnall. I’ll see to it myself that my cousin is taken care of.  _ But you must not let Severus know.  _ Understood? I’ll come back in a few days and we can discuss returning to Hogwarts.” 

Returning to the living room, they found Severus Snape awake. Hermione rushed to his side. 

  
“I shall be leaving now, but I will return in a few days. Speedy recovery to you, my dear boy!” Minerva disappeared into the fireplace, a  _ pop!  _ signaling her departure. 

Hermione’s eyes turned to Severus. 

“You’re awake,” Hermione smiled. 

“Where… where is-” his voice was raw and it was obvious talking was still painful. 

“He’s alright, don’t worry about him. Minerva checked on him personally. How’s your hand?” His hand was healed almost to perfection, thanks to Minerva. It would be sore for a few days, but he would eventually regain all of his function. 

He groaned, lifting his hand slowly. 

“Sore…” 

“Yes. Hold on, I’ll get you something for your hand.” 

Hermione returned with a magical salve. It was mostly used for treating rashes, but it would have to do. 

“Place your hand in your lap, please.”

He obeyed.

Carefully, Hermione started massaging his hand with the salve. His hands were much larger than hers, as was evident. His fingers were quite long and bony, but Hermione found herself admiring them nonetheless. After massaging the salve in for a little while, Severus placed his other hand on top of hers. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. Hermione forgot how to breathe. The silence in the room grew, wrapping itself around the two. 

I-uh… I’ll be back.” Hermione found her legs taking her into the bathroom. She locked the door and sat down, legs shaking.  _ What the hell was that? Why am I feeling…  _ She stood up gingerly before going over to the sink and splashing cold water on her face.  _ Focus. You have to help him, get him back on his feet. Breathe. In and out. Slowly.  _ She looked at herself in the mirror. The lack of sleep was beginning to show. Her hair was a mess. Letting a breath out slowly, she pulled out her wand and attempted to fix her hair. Her clothes didn’t smell great either. 

  
“ _Scourgify!_ ” Hermione whispered, wand pointing at her shirt. Satisfied, she went back to the living room. Severus was asleep, once again. Sighing, she sat down in the armchair next to the couch and allowed herself to drift off to sleep, knowing Severus was alright and didn’t require her immediate attention.


	7. The Lion's Roar

**A/N: Thank you for all the feedback so far, I appreciate it more than you know! This chapter is a bit of a roller coaster. Hope you’re strapped in! I love writing dialogue between these two, it’s so… fun.**

**CHAPTER 7: The Lion's Roar**

It didn’t really feel right. Not at first, anyway. It was just too dirty to be left on. Hoping he’d stay asleep, she vanished his shirt. He needed a new one. 

“Miss Granger…?”

_Shit._

“I, uh, just wanted to get you a new shirt. It was dirty.” 

“Very well. My bedroom is upstairs, first room in the right.” His voice had improved drastically overnight, but it was still a little hoarse. 

She practically sprinted up the stairs and into his room. Mild shock ruled her for a moment as she came to terms with what she had done. Not only was it entirely inappropriate, she could have mended and cleaned the shirt easily with magic. Pushing rational thoughts aside, she went to look for a shirt. His room was, perhaps not so surprisingly, very minimalistic. There was a queen-sized bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. The only thing she found noteworthy, or interesting, was the empty vials on his nightstand. There were at least five. Dreamless sleep, perhaps? _Shirt. Right._

She wasn’t really surprised to find his whole closet consisting of the same shirt, only multiplied. No wizarding robes, she noted. _Guess he doesn’t need them. For now._ Minerva’s words raced through her mind, and she wondered how it would pan out. Back at Hogwarts. To teach? That didn’t seem likely. To… work? The notion of Severus Snape willingly working at Hogwarts without some higher motive seemed even more unlikely. But she did agree with Minerva on one thing. People should know he’s still alive. His potions were remarkable, and who knows what kind of potions and cures he could produce if he had a proper environment for it. A potions lab, fresh ingredients readily available at all times… A library full stocked. His library in his house was fairly impressive, but it wasn’t nearly as big as say, the Hogwarts library. 

Back in the living room, Severus Snape was attempting to sit up. Hermione noticed his efforts and rushed over to help. 

“Please, you need rest.”

  
“What I need is to get out of this damned couch. It’s hurting my back.” Realising she was fighting a losing battle, she instead chose to help him. 

“I brought your shirt.” He didn’t say anything, only holding out his good arm signaling for her to pull it on. She could feel his hot breath on her neck as she pulled the shirt around his back. Carefully threading his bad hand through the armhole, she went on to button his shirt. 

“Your bruise looks much better,” she noted, without looking at him. And it really did. It was almost gone now.

“Thanks to you.”

Hermione blushed. “Learned from the best.” A small smirk crept across Severus face. She could feel his eyes on her as she finished buttoning his shirt. “Hungry?” She reached out her arm for support. 

“When did you come?” 

“About two and a half days ago.” 

“And you... you discovered me?”

“Yes. You were quite badly injured, Severus. I’d hate to think what would have happened if I didn’t come when I did.” They were in the kitchen now, and Hermione fished out some of the groceries she had bought a while ago. Somehow, they hadn’t gone stale. Fixing a plate for both her and Severus, she sat down to eat. Severus didn’t touch his food. 

“Is Domhnall alright?” Severus asked, concern in his voice. 

“From what I heard from Minerva he feels sorry but yes, he’s alright. It wasn’t your fault…”

Severus slammed his fist (the good one) into the table. “ _Of course it’s my fault!_ If it weren’t for my insufferable need to prove something to myself, that I was still able to… to… To be more than the person that died during the Battle…” His eyes grew sad, and Hermione couldn’t help herself. She walked over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. “I f-failed him, h-he trusted me...” A stream of tears emitted from his stark, black eyes. Hermione embraced him, and held him tightly, his face buried in her neck. She didn’t care that he hugged her a little too tight, that her neck was getting wet and hot with tears, or that she was crying herself, too. They embraced for what must have been an eternity, and when his breathing became steady, she pulled away. His eyes were puffy and red, but his tears had stopped. 

“I do not deserve your kindness.” The hurt in his voice was overbearing. 

“You do. And so much more. I only wish you could see for yourself how worthy you are of good things, Severus. You are worthy of _love, of happiness, of friendship_.”

He didn’t reply, but instead he sat down to nibble his food. Hermione did the same. 

“He’s ok, Severus. You don’t have to worry.” She was painfully aware that she had just lied through her teeth. But she hoped he didn’t notice. Bloodshot eyes were studying her carefully, brows furrowed. 

“I need to lay down,” Severus said, voice unsteady. Hermione walked over to him and offered her hand as support. He took it, and held it tightly. Back at the couch, Severus sat down, head in hands. 

“Please…” His hurt was her hurt at that moment, and Hermione could not bear it any longer. 

  
“Don’t.” He raised his good hand at her, signaling for her to back off. 

“But-”

“ _I said don’t!_ Do you not think that I have suffered quite enough, Miss Granger? That before you came here, waltzing in ever so casually, that I had not lived in solitude for years? If you think, for a single moment, that you are anything more to me than a nuisance at this moment, you are sorely mistaken.” He paused for a moment. “Get out of my sight.” Her legs were glued to the floor. 

“No!”

“Miss Granger, do not test my patience-”

“I will! Do you think that because you are older that you get to tell me what to do? Because you have suffered more? No! I’m staying here, and that’s _not_ up for discussion!” Wild curls were cascading her face and she found herself breathing heavily. 

Severus groaned, his fingers rubbing his temple. “Insufferable-”

“Miserable-” Hermione chimed in. 

“Miss Granger-”

Hermione walked over to him, determination in her eyes, and sat down next to him on the couch. 

“I know what you must think of me, Severus. You refuse to look at me as anything other than a little annoying know-it-all. And I do not blame you. But I cannot let you think that in good faith. Because it isn’t true anymore. I’ve grown so much, not only since the Battle, but also since I’ve come here.” She paused briefly to look up at him. “And I see it in your eyes, Severus. You’re not so unlike me.” His piercingly obsidian eyes seemed to unapologetically devour her entire soul, his gaze refusing to leave her brown eyes. They sat like that for what seemed like an eternity before Hermione abruptly stood up, pulling her gaze from his. 

Excusing herself, she went upstairs to the guest room, the room she had been staying in. Sitting on the window frame and gazing out the into wilderness, she opened the window. A gust of ice-cold wind hit her face and knocked the breath out of her faster than she could react. Inhaling deeply, filling her lungs with the fresh, cold air felt _wonderful_. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, and she found herself laughing. Her mind was never far from Severus, however, and she didn’t stay long before she went downstairs again. 

Scanning the living room, she was shocked to find it empty. No Severus. Panic arose inside her, grasping hold of her, twisting and wringing. _Where is he?_ Her mind reached a million conclusions before she could even grasp hold of a single that made sense. _Klonk!_

“The potion room!” she exclaimed. Sprinting as fast as her legs would take her, she found her mind racing. _Please be okay, please be okay, please-_

Inside the room she found him pacing, destroying vials, cursing, and throwing his arms in the air. 

  
“Where?! _Where is it? Where did I go wrong?”_

“Severus! Stop!”

“How could I be so foolish, so-”

“Please stop! You’ll hurt yourself!”

“Silence!” he hissed. He pointed his wand at her, hand shaking, a maddening look in his eyes. 

“A step closer and I’ll hex you to the bloody moon!” 

Hermione froze, daring not to go any closer. “Please, Severus. We can figure this out together.” 

“How? Did you have anything to do with this? Did you set me up? Was that why you came here? To ruin me?” He moved closer to her until he was mere inches from her face. His scent was apparent to her, an odor of sweat and somehow still, herbs. 

“No! Of course not! Listen to yourself, Severus!” She attempted to reach for his arm, to comfort him, but he swatted it away. 

“You must think me a damned fool! How could I have let you into my house so easily, knowing full well-”

An unmistakable force of bravery took hold of Hermione, and she reached up on her toes and wrapped her arms around him. Tightly, she held them there. She could feel his tenseness as their bodies met, but not long after, she felt him relax. She found herself quite enjoying hugging him, even if he was quite a bit taller than her, and probably a little too underweight. 

  
“I would never, _ever,_ deceive you like that!” she pulled away from the hug and placed her hands on his cheeks. Surprisingly, he let her. “You can trust me.” She smiled at him, softly. Suddenly, she was painfully aware of how close they were. She could still feel his body next to hers, she could still feel his breath on her face… His eyes, ever so dark, but this time, she could not read them. His face, a blank canvas. The only thing she was certain of, was that she had soothed the hissing snake.


	8. Trust

That evening as she went to bed she found an feeling of guilt looming over her. She’d lied to him, that much was apparent. But it was for his own good. It didn’t justify her actions, but it gave them clarity. Not that it counted for bloody anything, but it made her feel a tang less guilt. 

Sighing, she wrapped her covers around her an attempted to sleep. Her sleep was a restless one, and at 2 A.M., she woke, unable to go back to sleep. Severus had spent the rest of the previous evening in his bedroom after Hermione had given him a sleeping draught. Casting a _muffliato_ on herself, she attempted to listen to any signs of life outside of the door. Not hearing anything, she opened the door as quietly as she could. There, on the bed, he lay in a deep and seemingly peaceful sleep. Thankful that his face wasn’t animated with the fury and paranoia she’d seen the previous evening, she found herself wondering why his reaction had been so explosive. Severus Snape was a rational, reserved man. She couldn’t imagine him losing his temper, or rather mind, like he had. But in a strange way, she found she appreciated seeing a more human side of him. A vulnerable side. 

Later that morning, with Severus still asleep, Hermione decided to go for a walk. Granted, it was snowing heavily, and the storm from last night was still lingering in the air. It didn’t matter. Casting a warming charm on herself, she set out. The village looked like something out of a postcard. It was enchanting. The snow falling slowly like little pieces of magic, the wind blowing softly, not like the last night when it was full of wrath. Before she knew it, she had walked over to Domhnall’s shop. The lights were shut off. _I wonder if he’s alright…_ She couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man. He was an eccentric soul and his personality could sometimes be overbearing, but he did not deserve the damage and guilt he was probably now living with. 

She didn’t spend much longer outside. The wind was becoming more brutal, and the snow was starting to fall in large clumps. Inside, she quickly dusted the snow off their clothes before walking into the kitchen, desperate for a cup of tea. Her moment of calm was interrupted by a sound coming from the potions room. Putting her cup down, she went to investigate. 

Inside, she found Severus. He was wearing a morning robe and a pair of slippers, his hair ruffled. 

“Severus?” 

He looked at her, a flash of madness in his dark eyes. “I have to figure it out… To find where I went wrong.” He stepped closer to her. “Don’t you see, Miss Granger? If I don’t find out, it will happen again and-” 

“Severus, come sit next to me.” She was sitting down on one of his two velvet clad chairs.

He hesitated, but did as he was told. She took his good hand in her smaller petite hands and brought it up to her lips and kissed it softly. The action seemed to catch him off guard slightly, but he didn’t pull his hand away. 

“How is your hand doing? Let me get some salve for that.” Her words seemed to have an almost magical affect on him. It was as if she could spin a comforting blanket around him with only her words. A safe cocoon where no one could hurt him, not even himself. 

The salve was a magical salve, mostly used for treating wounds but sometimes used to treat aches and to promote healing. She sat down next to him and began to massage his hand carefully. 

“Does it hurt?” she asked tentatively, her movements still careful and calculated. 

“A little,” he replied, his voice strained. 

“Minerva did a great job, you’ll only be left with some minimal scarring.” Hermione’s small, but gentle, fingers wrapped around his hand, massaging all his fingers and the crevasses in his hand. One particular finger seemed to be still be sore, however, and low grunt escaped from Severus’ throat. 

“That’ll do.” She stood up and he did as well. 

“Miss Granger, I thank you for your help, but you must understand the urgency. I have to know what went wrong.” He rubbed his bad hand absentmindedly. 

“Yes,” she replied. “And I will help you.” Taking his good hand in hers, she reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Being so close to him set off fireworks in her belly, and she purposefully avoided his gaze when she pulled away and pretended to be distracted by some potions. 

“Let’s start with the ingredients. What changes did you make?” Hermione asked, still avoiding his gaze. 

Severus shifted. “I’m not sure… I think I’ve forgotten.” His face was clouded in defeat, his good hand rubbing his temple. 

Time passed slowly as they exchanged ideas. Nothing seemed to help them to reach an answer, however. They’d exhausted every other option. The books he’d laid open, the vials, the ingredients used; no answer. 

Severus stood up, sending her a stern glance. “Miss Granger.” 

She looked at him, her brown eyes catching his dark, brooding eyes. 

He inhaled deeply. “I believe I may have come up with a solution. But it requires your utmost dedication and focus.” 

“Anything,” she whispered. 

“You must perform hypnosis on me.”

She could feel her heart in her throat. “Hypnosis?” she choked. 

“I believe it may be our only option.” Severus’ face was unreadable. 

“You trust me?”

Severus shot her a steely gaze. “I fear I have no choice.” 

She cleared her throat. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

oOoOoOoOo

  
  
  


The hypnosis itself was fairly simple. It would not require a pendant or any form of object, but rather, a drop of truth serum, and well, time. The truth serum wasn’t pivotal, but Severus insisted. There was no guarantee it would work, and even if it did, there was no telling what would happen during the hypnosis. Would he reveal something entirely different? As if her worries weren’t already prominent, Hermione was also completely inexperienced in hypnosis. Severus had explained it to her, and she felt she had a pretty good understanding, but it still scared her. The thought of failure was almost debilitating. 

They chose to do the ceremony itself in the living room on the now fabled couch. The couch she’d sat next to for countless hours, watching over him, making sure he was okay. Laying down, Severus notioned for her to pull a chair next to the couch. Hermione inhaled deeply. 

“Remember, Miss Granger, there is no going back once we begin.”

“I know.” Slow and steady exhale. 

“Then let us begin.”

The pendant was a deep green with an upside-down drop like shape. Hermione took a deep breath and begun. Swinging the pendant, she started, “Alright... Take a deep breath. Feel it in every part of your body.” She paused, watching him briefly. His brows were furrowed, lips tense. 

“Imagine yourself drifting in a calm and beautiful river, feel every muscle in loosen and relax…” She could see him relax his body, starting with his brows. The tenseness that had only moments before reigned over his facial expression seemed to let go in almost an instant. “And as you’re floating, you begin to see images around you. What do you see?” 

She could see his eyes moving underneath his eyelid. “I… I see… Peace.” 

Continuing, Hermione focused. “Okay. I’m going to ask you to go back a few days… You’re brewing-”

She was interrupted by his voice. “No, no! No! Stop! Father, please!” His voice was frantic, his facial expression twisted in worry. “Please, don’t hurt me!” 

“Severus? Severus!” But she could not reach him. He was lost in a deep trance. He was whimpering, twitching and in obvious great distress. 

“STOP!” his voice was strained and pained, tears were streaming down his face. “Leave me alone!”

Hermione was panicking, and remembering what he said about exiting the trance, she said the word; “ _Dumbledore!_ ” She hadn’t asked about why he chose that word, but ultimately, she realised it made sense. It needed to be strong enough to elicit an emotional reaction, but not strong enough to send him deeper into the trance. 

  
He seemed to calm down a bit after she said the word, but he was still in a deep unconscious state. She reached out for his face carefully and touched his cheek. She wanted so badly to comfort him, to take his pain and make it her own. 

“Mother?” he whispered. “Mother, I… I failed.” 

“Shh,” she put her head on his chest. “It’s okay. I’m here now.” His face seemed to relax at her words, and he started to breathe deeply. Hermione felt relieved. Seeing him in so much distress made her realise how much she, well, disliked it. 

She picked up his good hand and kissed it softly. 

He groaned. “Miss… Granger?” 

She lifted her head. “Thank Merlin,” she said, relieved. 

“What happened? I cannot recall anything, my head is pounding…” 

“I… I think you had a nightmare of sorts.” Hermione wasn’t sure what to say. She stared into her lap and fiddled with thumbs. 

“It was a waste of time then.” Disappointment washed over his face. He stood up, rubbed his temple and turned to Hermione, something different about his eyes. They were studying her intently.

“What was the nightmare about?” 

“Your parents.” 

He paused. “And you… you’re not leaving?” It was such a simple question, such a profound childish wonder in his voice. It wasn’t Severus _the man_ who asked the question, it was Severus the _little boy_. 

Hermione stood up and walked closer to him. His smell bore into her nostrils; a smell she had gotten used to and quite enjoyed. He leaned down and cupped her face in his hands. 

“Your bad hand, you-”

But she was interrupted by his lips on hers. It caught her off guard, but she did not resist. At his lips touch she found herself floating, the air around them electric. It was, in all senses of the word, _magical._ She melted in his arms and moved closer, deepening the kiss. All Hermione’s doubts, fears and sadness were washed away with a simple touch, and all she could think of while it lasted was how wonderful it felt to be kissed by him, how complete she felt, how much the outside world didn’t matter. All the nights spent alone, both by her and by him, they didn't matter. The nights she spent drunk, hurt, and in pain. His kiss, his touch nullified it.

His body felt hot underneath hers, and she found herself moving her fingers to the buttons of his shirt as they kissed. 

Almost instantly, he pulled away. His eyes were wild with fire. “Miss Granger, this cannot-”

She said nothing, instead notioning for him to wait. A small grin stretched across her face. She was going to play Billie Holiday on the record player, and he was going to dance with her whether he wanted to or not. She put the record on and turned to him, a sly grin stretched across her face. 

“Come.” She reached her hand out to him. He hesitated, but took her hand. “Here,” she said, placing his hand on her waist. “Grab my hand.”

“Miss Granger, I do not dance,” he protested. 

“You do now.”

She rested her head on his chest feeling his warmth and heartbeat. Then they swayed, slowly. 

_“You don't know what love is_

_Until you've learned the meaning of the blues_

_Until you've loved a love you've had to lose_

_You don't know what love is_

_You don't know how lips hurt_

_Until you've kissed and had to pay the cost_

_Until you've flipped your heart and you have lost_

_You don't know what love is_

_Do you know how lost heart feels_

_At the thought of reminiscing?_

_And how lips that taste of tears_

_Lose their taste for kissing.”_

  
  
  


**A/N: Hope this somewhat makes up for the insane slow burn this fic has been. Pretty nervous to post this but I hope you guys like it!**

**Why didn't I use Legilimency? Well, I think one part is that the way I understood it Legilimency wouldn't actually reveal a forgotten memory - a memory that technically doesn't exist, or a broken memory, surpressed etc. Or maybe if you could retrieve a memory like that, it would probably require a great deal of patience and skill. Another reason is that I don't think Severus would be that comfortable with Hermione looking through his mind etc. But, all in all, it was just the way I chose to do it. Simple :p**


	9. Unveiled

It was the early hours of the next morning and Hermione was lying in bed, duvet tucked underneath her chin, thoughts racing. A few weeks ago she had no idea he was even still living. And now he was and her entire world was changed. No longer were her evenings dark and gloomy, a fog of loneliness and alcohol surrounding her. Now it was a fog of herb smells and obsidian eyes. And oh, how much she preferred the latter. If she could only tell her former self of this future, how things might have changed. The only thing still gnawing at her subconsciousness was the lie. The white lie to protect him from himself. She’d convinced herself it was the right thing to do, and, she believed it. But he would come to know the truth sooner or later, she knew that. He was Severus bloody Snape. 

Today was the day Minerva would check up on them, and Hermione felt exceedingly nervous. He’d spent most of the morning in the living room, nose tucked in a book. Hermione had done the same. She’d picked up a book on healing potions, which she’d found quite fascinating, capturing her attention intently.. She was sitting in the armchair, knees pulled up and her curly hair acting as a curtain so she could not see her surroundings. 

His mood seemed to be drastically different from the night before. His guards were up again, the air around him cold. Hermione shifted nervously in her seat. 

“Severus?” 

“Hmph?” 

She bit her lip. 

“I-” She couldn’t finish her sentence, however. Minerva McGonagall appeared in a cloud of floo powder in front of the fireplace, a loud crack echoing through the living room. 

“Severus, Hermione,” Minerva smiled. Hermione noticed she had a orange ball of fur tucked into her harms. 

“Crooks!” she exclaimed, running over to the older witch. “Oh, I missed you!” Taking the half-kneazle into her arms, she buried her face in his fur. 

“Minerva,” Severus said cooly. 

“How are you?” Minerva walked swiftly over to her former student. “How’s your hand? Let me see.” She attempted to reach for Severus’ hand, but he quickly pulled it away.

“Tell me what’s going on.” His gaze could cut steel, his nostrils flaring. 

“What ever do you mean, boy?” Minerva’s eyes darted between Hermione and Severus. 

“You lied to me.” He turned towards Hermione. “YOU lied to me!” 

“Severus-” 

Before Hermione could react, Severus stared her and whispered, “ _Legilimens!”_ wandlessly. 

The spell caught her off-guard. Having no shields he slipped into her mind easily. He shifted through memory after memory, throwing them aside, furiously looking for _something, anything._ But he saw everything. He saw her after the war, alone, broken, defeated. Drunk. He saw her with Ron. The fighting, the tears, the sorrow she’d experienced after. And Gods, the _loneliness._ He saw her sob in despair, feeling so alone that it hurt to breathe. That it hurt to even exist. And he saw her write the letter to him, how surprised she’d been to receive a reply, and how nervous she’d been to meet him. Pushing through the memories with a raging fire, he saw her at the funeral, the uncertainty she’d felt, and the anger at seeing Ron with another, the _jealousy._ Not because Ron wasn’t with her anymore, but because he wasn’t lonely like her. 

His demeanor inside her mind seemed to change, but he still shifted through her mind rapidly. He saw her change her demeanor around him, how her sadness and loneliness seemed to disappear in his presence. And then there was the accident and the way she’d found him. The despair she’d felt, the panic. How she’d cared for him, never leaving his side. 

And then there was the memory with Minerva. He saw it all. How Minerva had told her not to tell him, how Domhnall had been left with permanent claws. She felt anger rise within him. But he didn’t exit her mind instantly, instead he looked deeper. Until he found it. The kiss. Her confusion, but then the pleasure and then the feelings of _happiness_ as they’d danced.

He exited her mind. His gaze fell on Minerva, a flash of anger in his eyes. 

“Minerva, I’m disappointed. Not only did you choose to withhold the truth from me, for absolutely no reason at all, you bring her into it-” he looked at Hermione. “She did not deserve to be dragged into this.”

Minerva looked remorseful. “We did it to protect you, Severus! You must understand.”

“YOU did it to protect me. And look at where that landed you. You stab me in the back to protect my sanity yet the only thing I see is betrayal. Good job, Minerva. You outdid yourself this time.” 

“You are blinded by your own misconceptions, Severus! Can’t you see? You’re so blinded by your own insecurity that you cannot see what is right in front of you!” The older witch was overcome with frustration, throwing her hands in the air in defeat. “Instead, you violate Hermione’s trust my invading her mind! Severus-”

Something in Severus’ mind snapped.. “Do NOT ever presume me to be a predator, Minerva!” He was fuming now. “Get out of my house! NOW!” he roared. Minerva vanished in a smoke of floo powder, completely forgetting about Crookshanks. 

Hermione was still holding her newly found feline friend, her mind throbbing from the legilimency. She couldn’t think, couldn’t form a coherent thought, she could barely even see straight. 

Severus turned on his heel to face her.

“And you!” he pointed a finger at her. 

Hermione inhaled deeply. “You have every right to be mad at me,” she said, putting Crookshanks down and walking over to him, grabbing his hands. “But you saw my memories, Severus! I’ve seen how hard you are on yourself… I wanted to protect you, to shield you. But I see now how wrong it was. I should have told you.” Her face fell, her mind a complete and utter blur. His legilimency had been incredibly strong, way stronger than she could have ever imagined. 

“You presume I need protection,” he scoffed. “But it is _you_ who needs it, Miss Granger.” He left here in a cloud of confusion, storming out of the room like a dark phantom. 

Hermione couldn’t move. He saw her memories, Gods, he saw them all, and yet, he still doubted their validity? Or was it something else? She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stand. Her knees hit the floor, tears streaming down her face. She felt so bloody guilty. _This is all my fault_ . _He should hate me. I came into his life and fucked it all up._

All rational thought left Hermione’s mind. Stepping outside in the snow, the air so cold it felt like it was biting her skin, she apparated to her cottage. She needed a drink. _Badly._

Practically wobbling over to the drink cabinet, she pulled out a bottle of wine and began to chug. She had one goal; to get drunk and to forget. At least for a moment. But then the tears came. And then the overwhelming feeling of what-the-fuck-have-I-done. The only friend she’d made in Merlin knows how long now probably hated her. Or at least despised her. Even if he’d kissed her so convincingly. _He probably just pitied me,_ she thought, finishing the bottle of wine and sitting down on her bed, the bitter taste of the wine still clung to her tongue. She hated red wine. 

OoOoOoOoOo

  
  


The next few days she spent drinking herself into oblivion-- every day was a blur and the days just seemed to melt together. She’d just finished another bottle when she heard a familiar tapping on the window. 

“Who the bloody-” 

She noticed Severus’ black owl, Erebus. Her heart sank. With trembling hands she let the bird in, her mind still hazy from the alcohol. 

_Miss Granger,_

_I’m not quite sure when, or if, you intend to return, but I would like to inform you that your cat is still at my residence. I suggest you make haste unless you wish for him to become a potions ingredient._

_Severus_

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t that. _Why’d he have to be so bloody short about it? Does he not care about me at all?_ Stumbling to her feet she attempted to regain her balance by supporting herself on the bed frame.

“ _Apparate,_ ” she whispered. But it was all wrong. She felt a bone break, no, two break. Three? It hurt. _Oh Gods, it hurts. Did I lose a limb? Am I dead? Is this what it feels like to die?_ She felt a screech leave her body, a horrible, gut-wrenching screech. 

She couldn’t feel her legs anymore when she landed. Her vision was blurry and she was seeing spots but she could see the outline of a house in front of her. Was it? She didn’t have time to finish the thought before her world went black. 

In her darkness she dreamt she was in a village surrounded by trees, only a single house visible in front of her. She attempted to walk towards it, but it was as if she was walking in sludge. Around her the air became heavy and she struggled to breathe. The air was so black. How could it be so black? It was as if all colour was gone, around her only darkness. Then suddenly the scenery changed and she could breathe again, around her white clouds and sunlight warming her skin. _How did it change so quickly?_

She kept trying to open her eyes, but they were too heavy. They must have weighed at least a ton. She could open them slightly, however, and she always saw the same black shadow in her peripheral vision. It never seemed to move, like it was frozen in time. 

_Mum…? Mum? Dad? I’m so scared. I think I’m dying. No, I think I’m dead._ She felt her cheeks become wet. _Oh, and Severus despises me. Maybe it’s for the best it ends like this._ She felt something touch her cheek. Her mind blurred and she slipped into blackness once again. 

She was unconscious for days, possibly a week, before she even began to show signs of waking up. It was a grueling and slow process of eyes opening slightly, shutting again, and fingers twitching. It wasn’t until 5 P.M, on a Sunday Hermione Granger groaned and coughed. 

“Hermione?” Severus’ voice was a distant echo in her mind, but she clung to it like her life depended on it. Which it kind of did. 

“Sev-” she rasped. 

“Shh,” he whispered. “Rest.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes for the first time in probably a week. Next to her was a disheveled man. Hunched over, his beard overgrown and his hair had definitely not been washed in well over a week. But he kept his eyes on her.

“You splinched yourself, silly girl.” Gods. He really looked awful. 

“Sorry,” she whispered. “Letter. Crooks.” 

Upon hearing its name, the orange furball jumped into Hermione’s lap. She was still lying down, but the furry creature didn’t seem to mind, instead choosing to get comfortable and sleep. 

“How do you feel?” Severus asked, moving closer to observe her. He lifted her hand carefully, examining her fingers, taking his time with each one. 

“Like I got splinched.”

“Bloody Gryffindors.”

“Did I lose a limb?” Hermione asked, voice still hoarse. 

Severus went on to observe the other hand. “No, but you almost lost your sodding life.” He didn’t seem to be angry, but there was a hint of _something_ in his voice. 

“I-I just, I…” Hermione tried to speak, but her words would not come. Instead, her cheeks became wet with hot tears. “I just wanted you to like me. I like you.” 

Severus sighed, his dark eyes looking over at her. “Hermione,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “You must be daft if you think I don’t like you. And if my memory serves me correctly, you’re the brightest witch of your age, are you not?”

She sniffled. “I don’t think I deserve that title anymore. Bloody splinched myself.”

At that, Severus laughed. His laughter was like honey to her, sweet and heavenly. It filled her up and made her feel at ease, like nothing bad would happen to her ever again. She smiled, and feeling her eyelids become heavy again, she fell asleep. 

  
  
  
  


  
**A/N: Oh boy. I’m sorry I keep giving you guys roller coaster chapters, but I hope they’re fun to read at least?**

**There’s so much negativity and hate going on in the world at the moment and I hope if you’re reading my story you get at least a little break from it. Stay safe and be kind to each other <3**


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